


Shattered Dreams

by addyrobin



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4991158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addyrobin/pseuds/addyrobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Frisk did not want to fight Asgore. Even as they stood, facing each other by the barrier, even as he spoke…they were certain, if they could just talk him down like the others, he would understand."</p><p>Short fic pertaining to my reluctance to fight Asgore, and refusal to believe what could and could not be done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for end of Neutral runs. The inspiration for this short piece comes from the conversation I had with my best friend on my first playthrough of Undertale. I was so certain that you could save Asgore – even without the “Mercy” button, I kept trying. I told my friend, triumphantly, that I would not let him die. His response broke my heart, and I needed to pen it down. 
> 
> I never wanted to fight him.

This was not what they wanted.

Frisk did not want to fight Asgore. Even as they stood, facing each other by the barrier, even as he spoke…they were certain, if they could just talk him down like the others, he would understand. He seemed so kind, so reasonable – just as they had all said. All but Toriel…there was no reason for her to have said those things. She had been wrong about Asgore. He didn’t want to fight, either. Nobody wanted to fight…

Then, before they could think, before they could even act, Asgore did the unthinkable. He pushed his trident forward, jabbing it at Frisk without touching them…and a burst of pain shot through them. They opened their mouth, holding up their hands in a gesture of surrender as they came to speak the words.

‘I’ll spare you’…

But nothing came.

Frisk touched their throat, eyes wide as they tried again. Air. Only silence escaped them, even as they waved their hands frantically. Asgore smiled knowingly, eyes touched with regret.

“Oh, child…” There was nothing but remorse in his voice, and he lowered his trident carefully, points to the ground. “I’m not worthy of mercy. I can’t even allow you to try…” He was silent, as though wanting to say more…but shook his head, biting his tongue. “We must.”

Frisk could feel the attacks directly on their soul, as always. There was no pause from Asgore, only fire as they entered the dark void that meant inevitable combat. And…no mercy. The place within Frisk that normally shone with light, that always worked to spare a person from fighting…it was empty. The words did not come.

The world surrounding them turned grid-like, Frisk feeling boxed in in comparison to Asgore. A terrifying smile crossed his face as he lifted his trident once more, combat-ready. He was powerful. He was trying to be ruthless.

And they _did not want to fight him_.

Feeling suddenly powerless, Frisk raised their hands again when Asgore hesitated in his assault. Flames sputtered out as Frisk managed to speak, trying to find a way around their usual pleas of mercy. The words came out quiet, weak – but they were still words, and they still held more power than the knife that Frisk gripped in their hands.

“I-I don’t want to fight you…”

Their voice was soft, quivering with effort and fear. For a moment, Asgore’s eyes seemed to shiver with recognition…Frisk stared hopefully. He would see. Like everyone else - like Undyne, like Papyrus…like Toriel. Asgore would see that there was another way. He _had_ to.

But…whatever impression Frisk had made shattered quickly, and instead his eyes flashed orange with malice. He swung his trident with fury, and Frisk flinched…but it passed right through their soul. They looked to Asgore, then – still tense and poised to fight, but clearly having heard something in their voice.

Frisk would not give up. They had come this far without harming anyone…king or not, Asgore would bow to their will.

More confidence now instilled in them, Frisk spoke again.

“I don’t want to fight you, Asgore.”

It came out more firmly, and he seemed to listen. His ears drooped slightly, and his eyes were full of nothing but sorrow. He knew. He knew they were right. No one had to fight. No one had to die.

They opened their mouth to say more, to speak of mercy, but it came out as a choked cough. The words were still halted by Asgore’s magic, and this reminded him of his purpose. With a snarl, he sent another slew of fire in their direction, fury replacing what hesitation there had been. Frisk dodged reflexively, but they weren’t fast enough to escape a few of the burning missiles. They cried out in pain as the balls of fire singed their flesh, hands shaking harder as they clenched the knife.

The words came out then, like a burst of light through the darkness, Frisk’s throat raw as they screamed at Asgore, knife pointed desperately at the ground.

“STOP FIGHTING!!!”

Frisk nearly flung their weapon to the ground as they stared hard at Asgore. It was a demand for mercy, as much of one that they could make without saying it. And they wanted to. Frisk wanted nothing more than to let Asgore go, to cross the barrier without fighting. It was clear to them that Asgore did not want this fight. So why wouldn’t he listen?!

Asgore, for his part, was entirely silent. He looked…weakened, somehow. Tired. His resolve lowered, if briefly. He reached out slightly with his free hand, looking touched. “I…” His face fell, and he smiled again. There was nothing but regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“…no…” Frisk stared, shaking their head in disbelief. “No, no, don’t say ‘I’m sorry’, that means you aren’t going to let me—”

“ _I do not deserve to be saved!!_ ” Asgore’s voice boomed suddenly through the chamber, and he brought his trident down with a heavy swing. Flames erupted in the air, and Frisk woefully tightened their hold on the dagger as they dodged. Any light in Asgore’s eyes was gone, replaced with cold, unfeeling anger. Anger…at himself.

It seemed words wouldn’t do any more good.

All they could do…was fight.


End file.
